


Kings and Aces

by nobodyyouknow, subtextham



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Bar, Bars and Pubs, Bathroom Sex, Drinking, Hand Job, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodyyouknow/pseuds/nobodyyouknow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtextham/pseuds/subtextham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Not a girl in the place,”  Lupin says again.  Annoying.  Direct.  “Are you gonna drink that or what?  I’d hate to see good whiskey go to waste.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kings and Aces

The space is dark--the vague idea of most of the walls made vaguer by the brightness of those with working light fixtures, betraying dark wood and deep burgundy wallpaper. Locals are dense shadows crowded around sparse tables. The shiny surface of the bar and the crisp white sleeves of the bartender draw Jigen and Lupin, already part way to drunk on a bottle of red wine shared, glass by glass, in the night air out on the apartment’s balcony. Entirely unwilling to stop drinking but astoundingly out of booze, Jigen bemoaned the long-closed grocery stores and Lupin, undeterred, chirped that there was a bar nearby. Down the winding flight of stairs, out into the night, Jigen watched Lupin, walking a little ahead, and his ridiculous pink jacket submit to the equalizing orange glow of streetlights.

But they’re already clambering onto stools at the almost empty bar. Jigen wonders if his tolerance is waning--he’s older than he cares to admit, does age adversely affect seasoned drinkers? Lupin is very nearly chatting up the bartender; he is perpetually, seemingly mindlessly flirtatious. Not two seconds after this stormy thought forms, Lupin makes a show of glancing around the room and says loudly, “Damn, there’s not a single girly in this place!”

The low buzz of conversation falls away and Jigen _feels_ the dirty looks make impact with the back of his suit jacket. He sees Lupin watching him, out of the corner of his eye, but pointedly. After a prolonged pause two drinks in tall glasses are set in front of them. The bartender walks very deliberately down to the end of the bar as soon as he has deposited the glasses. Around them conversation seems to pick back up. “I would have preferred scotch,” Jigen grinds out, but takes his glass all the same. Before he can get it to his mouth Lupin’s glass clinks against it.

He is resting his chin in his hand and his elbow on the bar, looking into Jigen’s eyes. “Then you should have said so earlier. Salute.”

They each down one, then two. Lupin is finishing his third and Jigen is nursing a scotch on the rocks when he catches himself watching his partner’s long throat bob under the warm yellow light of the bar lamps. He brings his attention back to the room at large--shadowy figures bent over cards or drinks at the small tables, wreathed in smoky curtains, the bartender leaning into conversation with two middle-aged men, their reflections surprisingly sharp in the lacquered surface of the bar.

“Not a girl in the place,” Lupin says again. Annoying. Direct. “Are you gonna drink that or what? I’d hate to see good whiskey go to waste.”

“Only if you bring it this way.” Jigen snatches Lupin’s tie as fast as he can, which--gunslinger and all--is pretty fast. The tie clip pops clean off.

But Lupin moves fluidly in time, sliding off the bar stool just after him, the sweating glass of scotch already in hand. Jigen leads him around a corner and down a short hallway lit only by a dim table lamp. It’s only after he’s pushed Lupin against wallpaper that is now a stretch of deep gold-green that he realizes that they are next to the bathroom door. Immobilizing Lupin’s free hand with his left, he reaches to his own tie with his right, loosening it and undoing the button at his throat like he has done hundreds of times before. If doing it brings back memories for Jigen, seeing it appears to do the same for Lupin. He responds by drawing his shoulder blades together, which causes pink shoulders to shift and his narrow chest to tilt up. The gesture is startlingly feminine; Jigen has watched Fujiko use it time and time again on Lupin, and can’t tell if its deployment here is intentional or not (Lupin is pretty smashed). Intent be damned, the sight makes Jigen a lot harder.

He drops Lupin’s hand, grabs his ass with both hands. Lupin thumps and rolls his head back against the wall and Jigen bends to bite and suck his throat. Suddenly, finally, the scent of Lupin is in his nose and mouth. Electrified, he slips a thigh between Lupin’s and revels in the feeling of those legs squeezing reflexively around his own. He fights the pressure by pulling Lupin closer by his ass, until he can rut against the straining in the other’s pants.

Lupin gasps, loudly, and Jigen is dimly aware of scotch sloshing out of the glass Lupin still holds. “ _Alright_ , big boy, in here,” Lupin is reaching dexterously behind and to his right, twisting a doorknob, pulling Jigen in with eager eyes and flushed cheeks. While Jigen pulls the door closed and locked behind him, Lupin gulps the amber liquid and reaches around Jigen to balance the glass on the sink. True to form, the bathroom is small. The walls are bright blue, azure blue, Jigen notices as he again plasters Lupin against one, the sink to his own back. The color of the Mediterranean sea, Lupin bent serenely over the portside rail of their little getaway boat in full daylight, legs spread wide.... Jigen opens Lupin’s belt, fully intending to tug his pants down just to turn him around when he realizes there’s hardly room for that. Lupin’s thin hands are wandering against his chest, taking their time. He begins to work at Jigen’s shirt buttons, so Jigen reaches down to help him.

Once his shirt is opened Lupin pulls Jigen flush against him and that eerie chemical relief floods the gunman. Feeling dizzy and pleasant, Jigen drops his head to Lupin’s shoulder and his hands again to Lupin’s ass while Lupin reaches under his jacket to smooth up and down his back.

Lupin’s hands. Jigen has fucked a fair few people in his life (most would say he’s fucked a lot) but never has he come across a pair of hands like Lupin’s. Intelligent, dancing and ghosting, pressing and biting, and seeking and surprised, even long after they’ve mapped Jigen’s body a hundred times over. Lupin has given Jigen handjobs that no other contender has even come close to, feeling and knowing and _adoring_ every inch of Jigen, often with his eyes shut, his lips parted, his brow slightly furrowed as if it was his solemn duty to commit how Jigen feels in his palm to memory.

Thinking of this has Jigen bowing his back which creates enough space to bring his hand to the front of Lupin’s pants. He finishes pulling down his fly and slips his hand down the front of his boxers. Lupin is half hard and twitches in Jigen’s hand. Jigen picks his head up off of Lupin’s shoulder and for the first time tonight Jigen kisses his lips. He has never admitted this to Lupin, but when he has a dick in his hand he’d just as soon have it in his mouth. He tries to transfer this energy into the kiss, which seems to work because soon Lupin is bucking against his hand, breathing ragged between their mouths.

Jigen can hear and feel footsteps outside, doesn’t even flinch when someone tries the door handle. Neither does Lupin, though he lets out a breathless little chuckle. An angry demand in the local dialect is only slightly muffled by the door. What surprises Jigen is when Lupin shouts back: “ _Vaffanculo! Ce l'ho duro!_ ”

Jigen lets out a surprised whoop of laughter. “Smooth,” he tells Lupin, hears his voice twisted with his smile.

The feet are shuffling away, presumably to take their owner to pee in an alley. Jigen slips his left hand down the back of Lupin’s boxers to grab and stroke the skin of his ass. Lupin’s dark eyes are shut tight; his cock is plainly leaking onto Jigen’s hand. One of his hands is pressed against Jigen’s bare belly; the spot feels cold when he finally lifts it, reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket.

He pulls out a single condom. Despite his quick tongue with the local, he seems to struggle to use his by now very slack jaw to speak: “J-Jigen.”

“Lupin?”

With obvious effort he opens his eyes and steadies his voice, “Will you finger me? Jigen dear?”

Jigen scowls at the pet name. As if Lupin were cajoling him into doing a job about which he felt hesitant. He scowls, his cock throbs, and he picks Lupin clear off the floor to set him up on the sink so he can play right into the master thief’s plans. Again.

Lupin balances on the edge of the sink, one foot supported by the toilet and the other against an adjacent wall. He has to lift himself up one ass cheek at a time by pressing on Jigen’s shoulders to worm completely out of his pants and boxers. “Woah-oh-oh-oah,” he protests, “that’s cold!”

“Suck it up,” Jigen suggests, running his fingers through Lupin’s bush before carefully rolling the condom out onto his fore and middle fingers. With Lupin somewhat elevated and Jigen pressed flush between his legs, he can easily reach around behind Lupin and get as deep as his fingers will reach. He skims his hands up and down the outsides of Lupin’s legs, then adjusts his hat, which with the the kissing got knocked askew a bit. Lupin is finally loosening his own tie, undoing some of his shirt buttons. Jigen kisses Lupin’s hands leisurely but wastes no time teasing him, dipping his fingers right into his ass. Lupin contracts and reacts around his fingers; it’s an incredible sensation. Jigen is always surprised that it is nearly as interesting on his fingers as it is on his dick. Nearly.

Lupin is loud. He’s always loud at one point during sex, if not the whole way through. Tonight he lets out a steady stream of curses in many languages, only about a third of which Jigen understands. Fascinated, he moves his hand slowly, slowly, stretching out the strange monologue until Lupin begins to resist by shifting and rolling his weight on the ledge of the sink. It’s sure to leave some interesting bruises.

So Jigen acquiesces and picks up the pace, watching sweat bead and drip down Lupin’s temples. He wants to kiss his burning cheeks, but settles for the throat that he can reach instead. Then he bites Lupin’s collarbone and Lupin begins to make some truly ridiculous noises.

Jigen spent his younger years chasing the biggest, meanest queers he could find. He worshipped their cartoonish masculinity, begged them to pin him down and fuck him, and yet never did he ever make the sounds that Lupin is making now. Lupin is as flamboyant, as weird in this as in any other thing he does. The trademark chittering, the off-putting bouts of laughter are reimagined in desperate tones, punctuated by Lupin again running through his global catalogue of swear words. Absurd, euphoric, never perfunctory; Jigen can trust that the depths of Lupin’s hunger for life, for experiences novel and revisited, will always exceed his expectations. While Lupin whines and moans Jigen is quiet, runs his unoccupied hand up and down Lupin’s arm, to the side of his neck, pushes fingers through the softness of his buzzcut, drags them down his chest to brush a pink nipple, settling finally on his hip where he tenses his hand to grip. A lot of experience observing Lupin in this state tells him he’s close. The awesome clenching and unclenching around his fingers, deep inside and hot, intensifies, and Jigen crooks his fingers just so. “ _Lupin_ ,” he urges.

And when he comes, oh does he come. Despite his open shirt and the fact that Lupin has been frotting his bare belly for some time, the brunt of it lands in thick ropes on the lapel of Jigen’s jacket--of course, somehow. Lupin collapses against Jigen, long arms looping loosely around his shoulders. Jigen turns his head in the tight space, knocking his hat askew again as he kisses Lupin’s neck, what he can reach of his jaw and cheek, holding him close while he slowly pulls out of him. Lupin is finally quiet, besides heavy panting.

Until he giggles weakly. After a moment he offers, “Your beard tickles.”

“You’re a damn fool,” Jigen says, embarrassingly fond. He slips the rubber off his fingers and washes his hands, Lupin still pressed against his chest and resting on his shoulders. He then retrieves Lupin’s pants and helps him pull them back on. When Lupin finally slips off the sink, Jigen allows him to continue to slump against him while he steps into his shoes. He tries to clean off his jacket and shirt and gingerly the front of his pants, where his own erection still stands expectant. Luckily he has some experience in bearing the wait. However, Lupin’s hands are sliding very unhelpfully all over him--one tangling in his tie, the other clenching his jacket at his back, Lupin leans in and kisses him chastely but long on the mouth. “Stop that,” Jigen demands (but only after Lupin has broken off the kiss himself), “and let’s go home.”

Of course “home” isn’t home, it’s a temporary hideaway, a pit stop in a lifetime of pit stops. For better or worse, Lupin has proved to be the one constant thing.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collab between my partner and I. They really came up with the whole concept, and I was all too happy to expand upon the idea of Jigen and Lupin as people who have been sleeping together for a long time (and lupin as...how did they put it...oh yeah, a total buttslut). I just want to note the brief bit about Jigen’s past sexual excursions: You know all those big, crazy gun-toting guys from Jigen’s past that show up in specials and episodes alike? Yeah. We ascribe to JET, the Jigen’s Exes Theory.


End file.
